Presumptive to Apparent
by Federname
Summary: On a very special July day at the Zaoldyeck estate, a twelve year old assassin ponders how things are valued.


**Disclaimer:** The setting and characters in this story are taken from HUNTERxHUNTER © POT (Yoshihiro Togashi) 1998 All Rights Reserved, and are being used here, solely for purposes of parody/entertainment. The plot is the creation of the author, and any resemblance to actual events is purely accidental, and unintentional.

**Summary**: On a very special July day at the Zaoldyeck estate, a twelve-year-old assassin ponders how things are valued.

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**Presumptive to Apparent**

by _Federname_

**1. Filial**

It wasn't like most houses, this gigantic neo-gothic Victorian pile situated on a quiescent caldera at the very summit of an extinct volcano. Although, given its location, few would ever be likely to see it; it had obviously been designed to impress, or rather, to intimidate. But as forbidding and massive as the above ground edifice was, it paled in comparison to the subterranean construct beneath it. Radiating out in all directions and spiraling downward for several stories, it was a labyrinthine world of corridors and rooms. The stone-faced corridors echoed when someone walked down them, but the thick doors insured that little sound, or anything else for that matter, escaped from the rooms.

He had never explored past the second level. He told himself this was because he hadn't been sent to any lower room, and that was true. He was clearly not the adventurous sort, and had learned very early on that surprises were, nine times out of ten, not a good thing. But if he were forced to look hard at the truth, he would have to admit that he was a little afraid of what he might find, or that he might even become disoriented and get lost, or become trapped somehow.

He didn't think this was a bad thing, this fear. Fear was good. It was the twin brother of respect, and he had already made the acquaintance of many, many things in his twelve years of existence that deserved that kind of respect. But if others knew of this fear, it would be construed as a weakness, something that could and would be used against him. Not that they would ask him. That wasn't how you found things out, not in this house where it was so very easy to lie, to say what was wanted, expected, or expedient. No, something would be mentioned, or hinted at, often casually or in passing, and then…and then….

They would look for a reaction. And this is where he had them, but good. Because anyone looking for a reaction from Illumi Zaoldyeck was doomed to disappointment. The one thing in his life he was absolute master of was his face, and it would loyally reveal only what its master wished it to reveal. And that was typically, nothing. It soon became evident to him this meant he was now thought to have no feelings at all, as if he weren't human. But if that was the price he had to pay for this subterfuge, then so be it. It was better than the vulnerable alternative.

He was in one of the first level rooms now, partially of his own volition, and entirely by his own fault. It was not one of the rooms with "equipment". No racks, suspension bars, electrical generators, or submersion tanks, just an ordinary room, often used for sparring. Even without additional devices, Illumi did have some unpleasant memories of this chamber, as well as a healthy respect for the hardness and durability of the walls and floor. But he was working alone today, doing extra balance and agility training.

Illumi Zaoldyeck, _the_ Illumi Zaoldyeck, graceful as a bird in flight, surefooted as a Klipspringer, nimble as a cat, needed extra training in this area? Well, like all things that seem preposterous on the face of them, there was a story behind this.

It had been a very routine job, a cakewalk really. The target had been lured to an outdoor café on the pretext of meeting with his employer, but he was actually going to meet his maker. A large magnolia tree overhung the patio where the man was seated, and having grown up in a house surrounded by acres of forest, Illumi was as at home in trees as on the ground. It would provide good cover, as well as an excellent angle for his strike. The target had ordered a highball as he waited and was humming tunelessly. Illumi made sure he was singing with the angels before his ice had even started to melt. One less embezzling numbers runner, and Illumi made his retreat back over the wall.

But as he dropped from the tree, a breeze snatched up his hair, tangling it in the thick leaves, pulling a branch around to strike his face. He barely felt the tug, or the slap, and had completely forgotten about it when he handed his mission report to his father.

"What happened?" Father was looking up from the report right at him.

Illumi was dumbfounded. Everything that had happened was in the report. That was what the mission report was, a chronicle of what had transpired on the mission: the date, location and duration, methods used, the target, the client, the assassin(s). Usually father flipped through it and dismissed him without so much as glancing up. Illumi's reports were meticulous. He had listed the distance from which the strike was made, the number of workers and patrons in the restaurant, the number of pins he had utilized, their exact location on the target's head, how many seconds before the heart stopped, the ambient air temperature…even the contents of the target's drink. What was Father asking for? What did he want to hear? As Illumi had no idea, he fell back on his strengths. He schooled his expression into an emotionless mask, returning his father's unexpected eye contact completely dispassionately, and waited.

At length a look of irritation crossed Silva's handsome visage, and he looked away with an annoyed sigh. "To your face. What happened to your face?"

Horror surged through him; he kept it from his features, but he knew his heart rate had shot up. There were no mirrors in Illumi's room. If you had to spend four hours everyday looking at your face in a mirror while you painfully contorted its appearance to mimic others, you would have had your fill of looking at it, too. He had come before his father completely ignorant of the mark of ineptitude he obviously now bore on his face.

"I tripped," he lied, "the paver tiles were uneven around the base of the tree." Like all good lies, this one held some truth. The roots of the tree had made the pavers very uneven; but as Illumi could run for miles over fields strewn with boulders, it wasn't very plausible. But he was afraid to tell him the truth. Illumi had overheard his father and grandfather some years back: "Why hasn't the boy cut his hair?" his father had asked. "He likes it long," Grandfather Zeno had replied. "Hmm. He'd better not let it get in the way," had been his father's last comment on the matter.

"Humph," Silva made a disgusted sound, but he didn't look up again with his golden cat's eyes, "we'll have to see about increasing your agility training then." He waved Illumi off.

That had been five days ago. Illumi had not been sent on a job since and had been assigned two extra hours of training, taken from those allotted for sleep, bringing that down to four. That meant he was a little woozy as he practiced his one-finger handstands, but he daren't wobble as that could result in a broken finger. As if sensing his musings, the band holding his hair back broke, sending the traitorous mass cascading down around his face, blocking out the light, and pooling on the floor by his hand. Illumi's body didn't flinch. But his mind flew back to one of his earliest memories.

He was not yet two and was sitting on the lawn in front his home. There was a lot of activity and noise as servants suddenly came out of the house and others came up the walk. And then a Giant appeared among them, his father, returning from some mission. As he strode past Illumi, unexpectedly Father picked him up, placing him on his shoulder, amidst the silken coils of his hair. He carried him across the lawn and up the steps to the front door, where he deposited him back on his feet as he continued on into the mansion, retinue in his wake, and Illumi's eyes never leaving the powerful, broad back with that long, wavy, shining mane rippling like a proud flag.

Extra training was never wasted. A predator always had to stay several steps above its prey, and how much more true was that when both were of the same species? And he had welcomed the quiet darkness of the training rooms for another reason as well. Illumi liked the comforting surety of expected routine, and for the past week the estate had been in a state of convulsive confusion.

His mother was expecting, overdue in fact. There had been a couple of false starts, and as she insisted on staying in her own home, various medical experts were now coming and going at all hours. No matter how much he might have wished, this was something Illumi knew he could do nothing about, so he elected to retreat into his training to await news of the outcome. His mother didn't need another worrywart like Head Butler Goto clucking over her.

He felt the surge of energy and power he always associated with Grandfather coming toward the room. It had only been forty-five minutes since he had started, so this interruption must be of importance. Illumi hoped for good news as he pushed off his left ring finger to right himself. His feet only just touched the floor as Zeno entered smiling.

"Silva sent me to get you, boy. Come meet your new brother."

That was unfortunate. Illumi knew that Mother had been hoping for a girl. She already had two boys: him, and his brother, Milluki. But Grandfather seemed in an even better mood than usual, so perhaps she wasn't too upset. It was one of those things that couldn't be helped in any case, so Illumi wouldn't waste time dwelling on it. "I understand," he replied as he wiped his face off with a towel he had brought, "I'll go."

Upon entering the house proper, Illumi immediately noticed a change. The servants, who had been running about like headless chickens, had obviously returned to their prospective duties, and the various specialists and physicians were nowhere in evidence. Even more striking was the absence of noise. Specifically, his mother's agonized cries. Unlike the lower levels, the rooms of the mansion had not been nearly so well insulated, and her screams had been inescapable everywhere within its walls.

Illumi had hated to see his mother in pain. He didn't like to see anyone in unnecessary pain. Even his targets, who were for the most part the scum of the earth, and who it was his job to see removed from this world, he spared from as much pain as possible. So much suffering in life was unavoidable, or required, that it seemed pointlessly cruel to create more. And his mother had already had more than her share.

He hadn't yet been sent out to train in the tournaments at the Celestial Tower, so he must have been around five or so, the first time he saw it, Ryuuseigai. It was unlike anything he could have envisioned, all the discarded and unwanted detritus of the world in one place. And not just things, _people_ were abandoned there as well; to live out their lives as best they could in that toxic, junk filled, lawless wasteland. And that…that was where his mother had come from!

Illumi couldn't imagine anyone considering his mother unwanted. She was so clever, and so skilled. But even though she was now mistress of a grand house, and bearer of an exalted name, this past had marked her, inside, where it could never be removed. She would dress herself in exaggerated finery, would obsess over the tiniest details of social protocol, and always fret that no one consulted with her or cared about her opinions. She saw in everything, and especially in any disagreement lost, proof others thought of her as inferior. Because of this, Illumi went out of his way to support her, even when he wasn't quite sure she was in the right. He could never take away all the pain, but if he could make her feel a little better, hurt a little less, then the effort wasn't wasted.

Zeno was almost beaming when they reached the door to Mother's room. Grandfather was never cautious about showing his feelings. Illumi supposed that kind of confidence came from having headed the most illustrious family of assassins, and yet now being free of that responsibility after handing it down to Illumi's father; still, this was a lot, even for him. Things must have gone very well with the birth after all, despite its inauspicious beginnings. "Go on, boy. Go inside," he urged, when he saw Illumi hesitate.

Mother's room was dominated by a huge four-poster bed, swathed in satin drapery, with lace covered comforters and cushions. Having spent some time on it as a child, Illumi knew it was very soft, and smelled like the pink tea roses his mother liked to wear. She was sitting up at the head of it, but she wasn't leaning as accustomed against a pile of soft pillows. No, behind her was perhaps the hardest and most unyielding substance on the Zaoldyeck estate, his father, Silva.

Illumi blinked, but the vision didn't change. Father was sitting behind Mother, left arm behind her and around her side, right arm reaching across the front toward the small bundle in her arms. Intellectually, Illumi knew that his mother and father must have some physical contact; he was one of, now, three boys. But he had never seen anything like this scene. They seldom occupied the same room at the same time.

"Illumi dear, bring Mother one of those bolsters. There's a good boy."

Her request spurred him to action. Deposed from their usual place on the bed, the cushions and pillows had been stacked and leaned against the wall from where he picked one up. Apart from this, the room's state was undisturbed. Whoever had been responsible for the tidying up afterwards had done an admirably thorough job; he saw no evidence a birth had just taken place. Well, except for the baby, that is. Bringing the bolster around to the side of the bed closest to Mother, he held it out to her, but Father took it, placing it under her occupied left arm.

This close to her, Illumi could see how very tired she was, but she was wearing a soft smile he had never seen before and she looked…. happy? He didn't think he had ever seen her so content.

"Here, look at your brother, Killua." Ah, that confirmed it. With Milluki being his other brother's name Illumi had suspected Mother was playing one of her word games, and this cinched it: _I_-llu-_Mi_-llu-_Ki_-llu-_A_… She raised her arm slightly, leaning toward him. He reached over and took the baby from her. She slumped back against Silva, exhausted. "He looks just like you."

Illumi regarded the infant now in his arms. He knew this last remark had not been directed to him. The baby was wide-awake and returned his gaze with striking blue eyes. They weren't a sky blue, or a pale clear blue, but a deep dark azure, like the starless nighttime sky over the great cities like York Shin. They looked a little angry, and Illumi thought he probably hadn't wanted to leave the comfort of his Mother's body. Maybe that's why he was late. He'd soon learn you didn't always get your way and often had to do things you didn't want to. Mother, however, had obviously been referring to his new brother's hair.

Illumi had heard that many babies were born bald, but that was apparently not the case with Zaoldyecks. Milluki had been born with quite a lot of hair, and Illumi had been told that this was true of himself as well. Little Killua was no exception. So fine it stood upright, haloing the baby's face with a nimbus of finest sterling, it shone in the room's muted light, almost glowing as if producing its own luminescence. He had only ever seen one other person with that silver hair, with shifting highlights of blue and sometimes lavender, his father, Silva. The infant's hair was lighter, of course, and perhaps Grandfather's hair had been that color, too, before it turned gray. Illumi didn't know. But there was something else about Killua that reminded him of Father and Grandfather. Though just a tiny fragile thing, this being projected a palpable air, an aura, a sense of importance and self-worth.

Killua was a comfortable weight in Illumi's arms. It had been many years since he had held his brother Milluki as a baby, but he routinely handled baby animals in the vivisection laboratory, and Illumi knew he had a calming presence. The baby seemed content to stay where he was, but Mother was holding her arms out for him, so Illumi returned her child to her.

Killua began fussing and Illumi recognized the unmistakable signs of hunger. He looked around, but there was no one else in the room. Then his mother shifted her dressing gown, and began to feed the baby…from her own body! Illumi almost gasped. He knew he had had a wet nurse and Milluki, no estate employee having recently given birth, had been bottle-fed. He had always assumed that his mother's milk, due to her background, had been too filled with toxins for an infant Zaoldyeck to withstand. Had one of those myriad specialists who had recently examined her given her something to counteract this? She didn't look concerned; she looked almost blissful as she drowsily leaned on his father. "He's the one. I know it," she softly sighed.

"Illumi." His father's direct address immediately riveted his attention and quieted all questioning thoughts. "Killua is very special to us; to _all_ of us. He's your younger brother, so you're going to be responsible for much of his training, and he's going to look up to you. You must always put him first and only give him your very best. Is that clear?"

"I understand." The first words Illumi had spoken, and they were a lie. He didn't understand at all.

His father's attention turned back to his wife and baby. Father reached around Mother and placed his strong hand on the infant. Killua stirred and detached himself from the breast; and making the first sound Illumi had heard from him, gave an outraged squawk at being disturbed and moved his arms jerkily as if to swat at Silva's hand. Father threw back his head and laughed. It wasn't the low chuckle he gave when he read or heard something amusing, or the even, cruel, triumphant laugh he made when he had cornered a difficult opponent. It was the wild, free, clear and open sound Illumi had heard from his father only two or three times in his life, when he overheard Father talking with Zeno about something that had pleased him. Illumi thought it was probably the most beautiful sound in the world. "My Son! Absolutely fearless!"

Illumi was starting to feel lightheaded. The reduced hours of sleep were likely catching up with him. Nothing further seemed to be required of him, so he could take his leave. "Congratulations, Mother," he said the very same thing he had said on the birth of his other brother, but after a moment he amended it, adding, "Father." No one looked up at him as he left the room, closing the door on that singular vignette of familial intimacy.

The hallway was empty as Illumi continued down it toward his room. He grabbed a bag of pins from a peg just inside his door. Grandfather had told him that soon, with a little more work, he would be able to wear the pins in a vest, their ends sheathed in his own body, without too much discomfort. Illumi had no reason to doubt him, but up to now, when he had used the pins on himself, to hold his face in an altered shape for more than a few hours, they had been very painful indeed, not just going in, but even more so coming out. So for now, he kept them in his pockets or in a bag. He knew he should probably return below to finish his balancing training, but he didn't think he could summon the necessary focus. And with his being kept off assignments, his targeting skills might be getting rusty through disuse. And when he was put back into service he wouldn't want to be a liability instead of an asset to the family. And…and…

He thought he would very much like to kill something.


End file.
